Page 3 of House of Dusk
“Why me?” She gripped the edge of the worktable, her knuckles pale. “Any ashdancer can question the girl’s spirit.”
“There’s no sign of a spirit,” said Beroe.
Sephre’s skin prickled. It didn’t necessarily mean anything dire. Spirits were harder to reach the deeper they drifted into the Labyrinth of Souls. Even the agia’s powers had their limits.
“Which means we have only the girl’s body to give us answers. Agia Halimede believes that you might have some insights, given how much time you spend puttering around your tinctures and tonics.” Beroe’s lips pinched as she spoke. The woman had always been far more interested in spiritual dangers than in something as mundane as a fever or sniffle, and no doubt considered Sephre’s work in the herbarium to be less meaningful than the prayers and invocations that filled her own days. Not that it had stopped her from coming straight to Sephre last spring when she broke her arm. Which was unfortunate, because try as she might, Sephre could not help but feel protective toward anyone she physicked. Even Beroe. Which meant she really had to do this, didn’t she?
The day was apparently cursed. Or possibly this was an ordeal set by the Fates, a punishment for making Timeus weep.
Enough whining. She’d seen dead bodies before. She could handle this. And it would give her the chance to speak with Halimede. This foolishness with training an apprentice had gone on long enough. It was abundantly clear that she was aterriblerole model. Timeus was a lily, too pure for her poisoned soil.
And if there was a chance that Beroe’s suspicions were true, well, then Sephre could not shirk her duty. Not when the danger had come so close to Stara Bron, to this small corner of the world that had tangled itself into her weary heart.
“Right,” she said. “Then you’d best take me to her.”
CHAPTER 2
SEPHRE
She followed Beroe along the hallway, darkly wondering what state she’d find her workshop in when she returned. She’d left Timeus cleaning up the bed of kitchen herbs, which at the very least wouldn’t poison the lad. She just hoped he didn’t accidentally root out the carefully tended hibiscus she’d finally managed to shepherd through the cold, wet Helissoni winter.
“They’ve laid the corpse in the crypt,” said Beroe, turning down a side passage that descended in a twist of narrow stone. She lifted one hand. A spark of yellow flame kindled in her palm, lighting their way.
“Where was she found?”
“Two shepherds spotted her body this morning, in one of the ravines along the southern road. She’d been missing for five days.”
Well,thatdidn’t bode well, though it could explain why they had been unable to reach the girl’s spirit. Sephre drew in a bracing breath as they emerged from the stairs. She regretted it instantly. The air reeked of sweet smoke, nearly making her gag. And not just smoke, she realized. A fouler scent beneath it. Rot.
Four braziers had been set at the corners of the low, square chamber. Those must be the source of the incense-laden smoke. The other smell came from the stone plinth at the center of the room, where a linen-shrouded form lay still and silent.
Sephre’s legs stopped moving, pinning her at the threshold, her mind lurching back again to the silent streets. The hum of flies. She curled her hands into fists, fingernails biting her palms, bringing her back to herself.
“Agia.” She dipped her head to the woman standing beside the plinth, her tunic a white blaze in the gloom, the sleeves embroidered with blue flames that matched the sparks kindling in the depths of her dark eyes. Halimede was a small woman, and it seemed to Sephre that she shrank a little more with every passing year. As if the flame she carried was burning her away, bit by bit, until only skin and bones and holiness remained.
And yet being in her presence was like standing beside the sea. Or beneath an achingly clear sky full of stars. Something vast and timeless that made all your troubles seem small as ants.
“Thank you for coming, sister,” said Halimede. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but we must know if—” She paused, seeming to reconsider her words, “—what became of her.”
“I thought it was a snakebite.” Tragic, but not uncommon. And for all that Beroe might see some uncanny hand at work, Sephre did not think Halimede the sort to leap to conclusions. But the agia was clearly troubled by something.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I would still value your input.”
Sephre swallowed. Her eyes avoided the plinth. “But shewasbitten?”
It was Beroe who answered, moving to the corpse. “Yes. Here, on her arm.”
The shroud was loose, the wrappings untied. The linen rested lightly, tracing the lines of the small body beneath. Only the girl’s right arm was uncovered. Her skin was gray and mottled, but even so the punctures were clearly visible, raw and red.
Sephre took a step closer. If she focused on the bite, she wouldn’t have to think about the fingernails, trimmed short and neat. Or wonder who had woven the beaded bracelet clasping the girl’s wrist. None of that was her concern.
She measured the space between the punctures with a fingertip. “It wasn’t large. Probably a brown viper. They’re common enough in these hills.” As a girl she’d learned to watch for them sunning themselves.
“And are they common enough in the middle of libraries in the heart of the royal city?” Beroe arched a brow.
Halimede made a quelling gesture. “Go on, Sister Sephre. Tell us what you see.”
Right. No sense in dithering. She pulled back the shroud. Beroe made a small noise and retreated several paces. Sephre remained silent, but only because she’d been grinding her jaw tight in preparation.
